[location: Library/accidental visual] i will get into your head and every day out of your bed
A video feed cuts on suddenly, the image wobbling around and accompanied by a high-pitched beeping for a moment, until it settles into stability and silence. The screen shows a wide-angle view of a double bed, occupied by two bodies, one of which is a grumbling Giles, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face
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This is also not ever something she wanted to see on her tablet. And as such, all they get is her still banged up face looking highly confused. And then there's the rapid switch to grossed out.
"Oh my God, my eyes." This will be fun.
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"Sorry, Dawnie," Ethan sings out when his tablet clicks on to respond on Giles's accidental broadcast; by this point he is digging around for his bottle of Que sais je? in the small bathroom.
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Buffy shrieking he can handle - it's confusing and irritating, but he can leave it to Rupert and god knows the girl's always been high strung. Tara not recognizing him is puzzling and worrying, but not the end of the world.
Ethan may be slowly realizing that something is very, very wrong here; he's still not quite willing to consider the obvious explanation for how his girl is currently looking at him. Instead, forcefully pleasant, he says, "I thought we'd got past all that with you and Rupert. He's not that bad."
...he'd really, really like for this to be just some illogical resurgence of how much fun it wasn't after Buffy died. He knows he's not really that lucky.
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"Last time I checked, you didn't even remember me. And don't even pretend like this is about Giles, this is about whatever spell you used to make him sleep with you and how much my sister is going to kick your ass after we break it."
Because the only way this gets worse: tell Ethan Dawn thinks he's a rapist.
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Startled, Ethan's gaze drops to the broken perfume bottle on the floor like he's not entirely sure how it came to be there. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters, disgusted - with himself, there. He prefers to think if anything is going to get broken then he'll bloody well do it on purpose.
"Let's try this again," he says, crisply, ignoring the overpowering Jean Patou and looking more closely at his tablet, examining her. "What the hell are you talking about, Dawn? Small words. It's been a very long day already and I've been up less than an hour."
There is a slightly plaintive edge to this, like the world's suddenly gone wrong and he doesn't understand why.
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Pause.
"You dropped your bottle."
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"Yes, Dawnie, I can see that," he says, sharper- sidestepping the first part of that like he's not even sure how to process it. "Shocking as it must be, you are more important to me than a perfume bottle that Rupert will replace after I've cleaned it up."
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Xander currently has his hand clapped over his mouth, as if nauseous. Also, he is wide-eyed and horrified.
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"True, but this is up there. I mean on the scale of horrifying this is a real comer. Please tell me this is all just an elaborate ploy and you're just about to start whaling on Ethan Rambo-style?"
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"Whale on- Xander. Why in God's name would I want to hit Ethan?"
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"I think the question you really want to be asking is why wouldn't you?"
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"Very amusing."
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"Dawn, it was an accident, you know how I am with this things, jiggle them about the wrong way and they turn into some...fiendish technological monstrosity. But really, is it that upsetting for you to see two consenting adults wake up in the same bed?"
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